Danish-American Miscommunication
by LibraMoon
Summary: Changed to a series, per request! Featuring more cluelessFemAmerica!xDenmark. Please enjoy, rating changed to M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Reader request! **

**"**_**Could you pretty please possibly write a DenmarkxFem America story if you have time? Pretty please like where she's oblivious about Denmark being possessive, jealous, and protective with his huge axe warding off other interested parties?"**_

**Well ladies and Gentleman, here we go!**

**Rated M. I own nothing. **

**On the off chance that any Danish readers get a hold of this, I swear to you I tried to tie him in with actual Danish culture.**

OoOoOo

If anyone knew anything at all. It was wherever America was, you'd find a smiling Denmark. Who'd more likely than not, make you keep to the five feet rule.

Five feet away from America.

Even in meetings. Especially out of them. Today was a meeting and Denmark was waiting for her, with a patient tapping of his fingers.

He saw her in an instant, when she burst through the doors, blonde hair easily catching his eyes.

"Little one!" He called cheerfully, waving her over with a wide smile.

The other nations watched in avid amusement as America-sweet, loud, and brash but clueless- went jogging over to Denmark.

It had been discussed, quietly of course because Denmark had a damn axe, that whenever Denmark called, America came running.

It was also noted that the same was true in reverse, only much faster.

"Denmark!" She said with a sassy smile as soon as she got close to him.

He grinned down at her.

She blushed.

He loved that blush. It made him want to pull her into his lap and plaster kisses all down her neck.

But that was a fantasy. His reality was sneaking kisses from America who was thoroughly unaware of what Denmark really wanted.

"You're going to make me do it, aren't you?"

"_Make _you?" He said, pretending to be shocked, "I would _never._ Now, if you _wanted_ to, that would be something else entirely." He said with a suggestive tone.

America laughed and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"And the other?" He said with a large smile.

She kissed his other cheek, and continued to blush. She then grabbed him in a hug. Ah, American greetings. This part he secretly enjoyed very much.

No one had bothered to tell America that Danes didn't kiss on the cheeks. He'd exploited it after an interesting meeting with another country where they'd been insulted America hadn't given them four kisses. To be fair it was 'air kisses' as America dubbed them.

So, he might have fibbed... a bit... and told her Danes kissed by way of greeting.

America, easily accepting America, had bought his little lie.

Did he feel guilty? No. Not at all. She kissed him this way. She didn't before.

He felt a little sad when the hug ended, and he pulled out a chair for her. She sat next to him without comment. It had become their little ritual, and Denmark was not going to let other nations take away what precious time he actually got to spend with America.

She was fun and vivacious. Yes, she would be loud and obnoxious, but he liked that about her too. She could party with him at the bar, though not nearly as hard as he could. He often had to fish her out form under a table or curl her up on his lap to keep her from falling.

Other nations understood.

America didn't.

Because, quite frankly, America never understood.

To her, it was always Denmark being well... Denmark.

It's not him obviously trying to pursue a relationship with her. Or shower he with his affections to win her over.

No. That was only part of the misunderstanding.

What she didn't grasp was that Denmark was not being _nice._ He was _flirting_ with her. He didn't touch her because he was a handy country. He touched her because he wanted to touch_ her_. She didn't seem to get the fact that he only ever brought his axe to the meetings where they were both in attendance. She also was completely clueless to the heated glares he constantly sent to certain male nations who were thinking just what he was.

Dirty, dirty thoughts about how America would look rather lovely without her clothes and on a bed.

_His_ bed. Because he's fucking _Denmark_ and has always supported America. He's never turned against her or brow beaten her into anything. She in turn has always treated him kindly. He even let her buy what she now called the 'Virgin Islands'. Part of him secretly hoped that was a statement he could take seriously.

However...

Denmark does understand.

He understands that America is so fucking _adorable_ when she doesn't have a clue about what anyone is talking about. Or when she constantly declares that everything can be solved with 'common sense' but launches into a convoluted plan that somehow always involves either aliens or robots.

Hero robots, she tells him, because there _is_ a difference.

She'd naive. Denmark fucking adores that. She's also a lot of fun and she teases with him. He really, really, and -did he mention really?- likes that too.

However, it is when she looks so damn happy to see him that makes his heart pound in his ears and makes him want to crush her against him so he can kiss her senseless. She smiles whenever she sees him, and though it's not a declaration of undying love, he knows they could build a wondrous union on that.

America likes him, and smiles at him more times than he can count, so he gets the feeling _a lot. _

The only bad part is that other nations liked America too. Not as many as their used to be, thank goodness because he'd have to brawl somebody, but enough that made him more than a little...

Territorial.

Every other Nordic nation, Sweden especially, recognized his Viking-like behavior. Sweden applauded him for it. Going back to the old way. The ways that kept them strong. It was right to stake a claim in the most direct way possible.

And he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. He wants to take his Axe, stand in front of her, and demand to know who the fuck wants to take him on. Because he'll take them all on if he has to.

He'll win as well. Because, he's _Denmark._

America calls him her 'Fucking crazy Dane'. So that has to count for something. It _has_ to. He knows that they have cultural differences. American's tend to go into monogamy much quicker than his people. He's used to being able to date a few nations at a time.

America... tempting little America with her little mewls- when she falls asleep at his house-, doesn't do that.

She doesn't take the months to years to decide a courtship process. She's a much quicker nation to go 'all in', as she calls it.

He knows because he's done a lot of research on it and even gone to her damn home a few times to figure out why the _hell_ she wasn't leaning toward him that way. Because it's been a decades now, and surely she has some inkling that he wants to be more than friends.

Then he remembers...

America seemed so far removed from the sexual overtures of other nations because she _was_ remarkably ignorant. Which amazed him to no freaking end because America's people were the largest producers of porn.

However, she honestly would stare at him blankly when he offered to take her to bed. She'd thought he meant to give her what she called a 'Piggy-back' ride. So his flirtations were lost when she jumped on his back and yell out 'Yah!'.

It was still fucking adorable, and he'd laughed until he was breathless as she tried to ride him like her wild west days.

America doesn't know what he wants.

He wants to teach her, he would be a fucking excellent teacher. He knows what to do and how to do it. He's not ashamed of his past. He wants to put all that accumulated knowledge to work. For her. He wants to give her his best grin and have her clinging to him for something other than demanding a snowball fight.

Which he always wins at, even when she pouts for an hour afterward.

He wants to see her with her hair all mussed from certain...night time activities that _don't _ involve sleep. Because he's gotten her into his bed before, only to figure out by her snoring that she had absolutely no idea what his meanings were.

Or that they were not even close to on the same page when he said 'having a good time.'

She'd brought soda, games, popcorn, and a set of hero pajamas to his house. A grin that had him thinking the naughtiest things possible, with a movie dangling from her fingertips.

Denmark had all but cooed at her most of the night while simultaneously having a raging hard on when her breasts pressed against him during the scary parts of a movie she'd brought. She'd insisted on sleeping with him.

He'd been so hopeful...

Yet, she'd gone to sleep the moment he laid down next to her. He was frustrated, torn, and left wanting more than platonic cuddling.

She was slowly killing him and had it been any other nation, he would have sworn she did it on purpose.

But it is not any other nation. It is America and she simply doesn't understand what she does to him.

But Denmark most certainly does.

OoOoOo

He tries several times, to his credit. He wants to talk to her about it. However, he wants her to understand on her own. To come to terms with the fact that once they are together, their _together_.

He's even let her wear his hat! Somehow she's even more adorable when she's happily shouting at every passing nation how he let her wear his hat.

Romania offers to let her try his. Denmark stares him down with his axe in hand. It is a tense moment, but America manages to shift the focus. Like she always does

"Why would I need two hats?" She said with a sincere smile. "I only have one head, silly."

Romania gives the barest hints of a smile, something about America always has him amused. Denmark hates it. His eyes narrow at the smaller male nation and they exchange an unspoken conversation.

_Bland dig udenom._ Denmark's face reads as he stands protectively next to America.

_No._

_Why not?_

_Because._ Romania gives him a casual shrug.

_I'll chop you in half with this._

_Eh, I've had worse._

_Seriously?_

_Yes._

_For fanden!_

Well, short of actually going after the guy Denmark needs to get America alone. In private and try to ply her with his world-redounded sex appeal.

It hasn't worked yet, but he'll keep trying.

"Maybe we should go for a walk?" He suggested with a slightly irritated smile and a laugh that was overly loud.

America turned those blue eyes on him, even through Texas they had him weak at the knees.

"Why?" She asked, clearly confused.

Denmark froze. What was he supposed to say? He was trying to get her to go out with him, and as far away from an encroaching Romania as possible.

Damn interloper.

"For exercise?" He said, the first thing that came to mind.

Her face goes blank.

"Damn it Denmark," she snarled suddenly angry, "are you getting on my ass too? I am not fat!"

He doesn't think she's fat. He thinks she has a body made for sin, and please..._please_ let him be a sinner.

Romania coughs discreetly. Why was he interrupting a private conversation anyway?

"I don't think you're fat," he assures her with a slightly lecherous leer, "I think you're just _right_."

Denmark knows he all but purrs the word in a voice that screams 'sex now'. And he means that she is right for _him_. Just so he was clear.

America beams at him, nodding. "Thanks dude!"

Then he watches her walk away, and makes a motion with his axe when he catches Romania watching her too.

No. Hands _off_. Denmark doesn't care if Romania has magic. He's dealt with Norge. He can handle the guy with fangs.

OoOoOo

"We should go see a movie," he says, the next time, trying to lure her into something scary so she'll cling to him like she does when she's frightened.

He'll protect her.

And, he likes that his coat smells like her perfume after she's all but buried herself into his side. He thinks it is rather cute, the way her face flushes and she closes her eyes while denying adamantly that she's scared. Which will then be completely undermined by her shaking and blue eyes filled with tears.

It makes him want to hug her right now.

"Sure!" America says with excitement shining in her blue eyes.

So he walks with her to her car and she chatters about her week. He smiles and listens while trying hard not to be hopeful that maybe, finally, she'll understand that he isn't just being nice.

Because she always tells him how 'nice' he is.

He was a fucking Viking damn it! He is not nice! He is sex personified and she is tempting him with every shake of those hips. If he gets the chance he is going to show her exactly how he conquered so many lands by trailing a path up her skin with his tongue and teeth, and-

When they pull up to the theater, he sees someone he'd rather not see.

His eyes narrow as he notices that Spain is there.

Not Spain.

Spain likes women. Really likes women and he's been known to have his eyes wander to America.

This was a big fucking 'No', happening right here. In front of his eyes.

America sees Spain and smiles. Smiles! She gets out of the car without a second thought. Didn't she know it was Spain? If she had any idea how much Denmark knew about what Spain thought about around her...

Because even though he thinks it too, he's Denmark so that's okay. He adores her and wants to love her. Not just screw and leave.

Well, screwing multiple times would be preferable, but he still doesn't want to just leave.

He'd even let her move in with him. Today. If she wanted to.

Still, Spain is talking to her, and Denmark is irritated beyond belief. What the crap was this?

His inner Viking rears its head. Was that a hand on America? Did Spain just put his hand on her?

Ohhh. Oh No. That was not happening.

He's tall and imposing, but he smiles because America just would not understand why he would strangle Spain when her back is turned.

He's sorely tempted.

He gives a threatening glare that has the other nation paling, but turning to chat with America again. Denmark is more than a little pissed. Due to the fact the Spanish perpetrator has managed to convince America they should see the movie in a group.

He doesn't want a freaking group date. They've done that before and Denmark is ready for the next step, which is America understanding that he wants her. All the time. In his life. In his bed. Frankly it doesn't ever have to even be in a _bed_. He'll go anywhere she wants. Floor, kitchen counter, desk, chair, sleeping bag, cave...

Huh. The cave was a new one.

"What are you staring at?" America asks him.

He snaps out of his mental montage with a sheepish grin. "What we are going to see, of course." The words tumble smoothly from his lips and he hopes she buys it.

Her amused laugh tells him that she does.

"Oh, how about that one?" She points to what must be a cheesy romantic comedy.

Denmark would rather eat his axe. Or England's cooking.

He points to the horror movie. "That one?"

Come on America. Go for it...

"Y-you sure?" She asks, trying to tuck back a stray lock of hair to hide the fact she's nervous.

Denmark's heart melts a little bit as she shyly looks back at him. He gives her a mischievous grin.

"Yes. Unless, of course, you're scared?" He trailed of lightly and America frowns at him.

Her fists clench and she puts them on her hips.

"Dude, I'm the hero!" She flashes a cocky smile, but he can see her knees shaking a little bit. "I'm not afraid of anything!"

Adorable.

He smugly watches as she struts to purchase her ticket. He gets behind her in line, cutting Spain off from the chance. He purposefully didn't give the bastard a opportunity to have a say in what they were seeing.

Denmark is so close to America that he is practically touching her. She seems unperturbed by it after she sees its him. It makes him more than a little pleased. Danes normally do not like being touched, however America is the nation he's hoping to get to know _very _personally.

He pays for his ticket and America waits patiently for him. He smiles at her, and she beams back at him. Spain follows behind them.

Denmark glares at him once more. A warning. The only one the other nation will get.

It's not even twelve minutes into the movie and America has her eyes closed with her face pressed into his coat. Denmark lifts his arm and puts it around her as she snuggles in closer.

Spain watches with amusement and shakes his head. The male nation looks back at the screen, trying not to laugh as Denmark blushes slightly while still attempting to decapitate him with his eyes alone.

Later in the movie, America shrieks like the hounds of hell are after her, and grabs Denmark so tightly he can barely breathe.

And it is fucking awesome.

OoOoOo

He's resorted to coffee. In the morning, some weeks later. Surely she has to know what a coffee date is. Right?

He prays that this will finally make America understand that he wants to have a relationship with her.

Because frankly he's running out of ways to show her.

He's going to do it. He'll tell her that they need to take this relationship between them to the a romantic level. Denmark has been there for decades. And, he just is not willing to wait any longer. He's started getting warnings from Norway that the other nations are going to start banning him brining the axe.

Fucking cheaters.

He'll take them all on. America is worth that for him. He's an attractive nation. He's valued for his contributions to science, culture, art, literature, and architecture. He's a dream come true.

And, right now, his heart is beating out of his chest because America comes jogging up to him.

Her smile and eyes are so bright they nearly hurt to look at. She's adjusting Texas as he almost shoves a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Thanks hon," she says with a bit of tiredness.

The pet names are his other secret weakness. He can imagine hearing them a lot more often.

He cheers up considerably, tamping down his nervousness.

"America," he says strongly.

She looks at him curiously, sipping her beverage contentedly.

"I wanted to know, if you would like to-"

"America get back in here! No slacking off!" Germany screams from the building exit.

"I'm not slackin' off jackass," she snarls," I'm talking with Denmark."

The strict nation levels a look at her.

"You can speak with your boyfriend later,"

Well, Denmark and America haven't had that talk yet, so they aren't technically 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'.

America gives Germany a rude gesture, which he starts berating her for.

"Isn't he just a _charmer_?" She muttered acerbically, casting him a sly smile.

Denmark snickers behind his own paper cup, but gives a warning glace to Germany when he tries to stride over and drag America away.

How many times does he have to tell these nations to keep their hands off? Honestly. He mutters to himself and follows them in.

He refuses to leave her alone knowing Germany's sadism fetish.

OoOoOo

It finally comes to a head one day when America tracks him down in the courtyard of one of Sweden's celebrations.

He'd invited her, but they'd gotten separated when she became distracted by something shiny. It takes all he has not to crush her to his side when she comes tearing back across the way.

There is fire in her eyes and she looks so determined that he just wants to kiss away her slight frown.

Or hell, he'd just kiss her.

"Alright," America says with a angry tone of voice.

Denmark was instantly on edge. Did someone try something? What a day to leave his axe at home. Stupid airport security.

"I've been patient," she informs him as she runs a hand through her hair.

"About what, little one?"

Her face darkens and she stares at him. "About waiting for you to ask me out. We hang out all the time. Do you even like me as anything other than a friend?"

She looks close to tears though she's putting up a furious front and Denmark can only blink at her.

Finally? They are finally going to have the chance to talk? As in, without some ass interrupting them or trying to steal her away from him?

Oh thank God. He was going crazy.

But he's Denmark so it would have been fine, because he'd just dust himself off and get back up again.

"America," he starts a blush of his own creeping across his face.

Okay, he can do this.

He was a fucking Viking.

He's had other relationships, this isn't hard. He can do this.

Her eyes well with tears.

"Oh my God," she half-whispers, "you don't."

"What?" He snarls, because she needs to give him a minute here. "I most certainly do want you for something other than a friend."

"I don't understand," she admits with an anxious look in her eyes. "Why haven't you ever tried to go on a date with me?"

"I have!" He denies vehemently.

"With like eight other countries," she deadpans, "that is not a date."

"It's a group date."

"I don't want a group date."

"Neither do I." he states forcefully.

He doesn't want anyone around but them. He wants to kiss her and love her. He wants her to look at him and only him.

He wants those other nations to back off and leave his woman alone!

"They why haven't you just ask me out?" America said in confusion.

"I have been," Denmark told her with a flushed face.

"When?" She asks with her hands on her hips, looking upset.

"The movies. My house. Coffee. Dinner." He lists off petulantly.

Her blue eyes cloud as she thinks. Her face tell him the moment she remembers what he's talking about.

"The movies, where you didn't want to watch the romantic comedy with me? You said 'no' to that! I thought you weren't interested in me." She said softly.

Wait, what?

He's staring at her like she's just announced she sees Norway's trolls. Not interested? In America? He's been itching to do things to her that even his people would pause at.

In a good way. The 'stand back in awe' sort of way.

"Why would you think that?" He asks, scarcely believing her.

America tilts her head and blushes. "Well, its common enough in America, when couples go of course, but I thought we could kiss when the movie got to the really romantic bits."

She shuffles from one foot to the other and looks away.

"You know... _a lot_?"

He's baffled and delighted all at once. His eyebrows rising to his hair line.

"What?" He asked, hoping he wasn't mishearing her.

She gives him a curious stare. "Didn't you know that? Couples make out all the time in movies. As long as they aren't horror movies."

Oh..._OH._ She'd been trying to get him to see a different sort of movie so they could kiss? That was so freaking cute that he wanted to twirl her around.

"I've liked you for the longest time," America confesses shyly, with a blush on her cheeks. "But you always just wanted to hang out."

"Hang out? We were going on dates," he argued with his accent deepening.

"We were?" America asked clearly startled. "But you never asked me."

He blinked at her. She...was...kidding...right?

"I asked you all the time if you wanted to do something."

Her face twitches, and suddenly she's doubled over laughing heartily. Denmark isn't certain what is so funny, but he smiles because her laughter is infectious.

"Yea," America said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, "but you never asked me on a _date_." She said emphasizing the word.

That was all he had to do? Really?

He was gaping at her.

"Do you want to go out on a date?" He blurts out as quickly as he can.

America moves to stand next to him. She wraps her arms around him. Her lips inches from his.

"Of course I do," She says with a sweet smile and rolls her eyes, "I've always wanted to. Hell, I want to go steady. Couldn't you tell? I adore you, but you are just so _clueless_ sometimes."

Then she kisses him like he's her hero, as he wraps her in his embrace.

She's warm and soft. She has the perfume on that he likes so damn much and they are in love. America wants to be _his._

And it is fucking _awesome_ to be Denmark.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Flawsinthisworld, I did see your request and I am working on it now. **_

_**For Breenieweenie,**_ "_**I really like the idea of a UN high school scenario with America being the young, naive, new good girl student and the male country being dominant, possessive, dangerous, older bad boy/gang leader or whatever. America being warned by others to stay away from the male country but he decides to pursue her relentlessly. I really enjoy a good cliché when it's done properly. I leave it to you to decide whether humorous or serious."**_

_**So...a Hetalia High fic with Denmark as the Bad boy and Sweet innocent (if not a little stupid) Fem America! Still working on the Aughisky chapter. I am stuck. **_

_**Rated M. I own nothing. Hetalia is not mine. **_

OoOoOo

Amelia hated this school already.

Though, truth be told it was a bit of an accomplishment because she had only been here 3 minutes. Three whole minutes and there was a random guy, with a funny accent smoking in her face.

"Hej," he said with a slight lit of amusement to his words as his eyes slowly looked her up and then down. They came to rest on her chest.

Yeah. That was _super_ attractive, right there. She narrowed her eyes and gave a discreet cough. Trying to get the guy to take the hint that she wasn't very pleased with him at the moment.

"Yeah," she replied in a barely still polite tone. "Hey."

He took her almost curt reply as some sort of invitation to further invade her personal space. He leaned closer, and she caught a lungful of heavy cologne mixed with the bitter scent of the smoke. He smirked and her eyes trailed the cigarette that pointed downward as his lips curved.

Her bright blue eyes widened behind her glasses as she noticed that his... lackeys? Friends? Brothers? Actually, come to think of it they were all blonde. Except for the younger looking kid that had bleached his hair to a platinum blonde. Or, maybe it was a whitish gray?

She had never really been all that good with colors.

"Oh, American?" He asked with a slight leer to his words. "Or are you another Canadian?"

Her mama had raised her with manners, so she would tolerate this boy even if it killed her. Mostly, because if she got sent home on the very first day -which would involve a very long airplane ride and going through customs again- her father probably would actually kill her.

The things she did out a sense of filial duty.

"No," she responded with a bit of forced cheer, "I am not Canadian."

Not, that there was anything wrong with being Canadian. She adored how they said 'eh'. Which was actually a real thing. Who knew?

"American," he said with a soft hum to his words and Amelia would almost swear that he puffed out his chest at her. "You will be popular. Just, perhaps, not in the best of ways." He finished his words and took another drag from his cigarette.

"Are you allowed to be smoking on school grounds?" Amelia asked, looking around to see if anyone else was being stopped by strange blonde guys with funny accents.

He smiled at that, as if what she said was somehow amusing and not an honest question. He looked back at his friends -she still wasn't sure if they were related or not- and shouted something in a language she didn't understand.

She hoped there was not a lot of that, because it left her feeling out of place and a little put off.

"Smoking is bad for you," she said after a second as concern lit her gaze. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

The boy continued to smoke, but her laughed at her comment.

"A lot of things are bad for you," he said with a strange look to his eyes. "But sometimes the bad things are the ones you should most enjoy."

Amelia did not quite get what he was getting at. There was a weird huskiness to his voice suddenly, and she could only assume he was trying not to cough from the smoking. She tried to warn him. It was bad for his health.

The group off to the side called something out. The boy in front of her answered back as he waved a hand in her direction.

The one with equally obnoxious looking hair started laughing and responded with some sort of quip. There was a boy with a beret in his hair who gave the boy in front of Amelia a rude gesture. Or.. there was the possibility that it was aimed at her. When he flicked his tongue out she had a rough idea.

Ah well. That one was relatively universal. She could figure that one out. And, for the record, ew.

What a jerk. They were all acting pretty asshole-ish. Great. A school filled with people from foreign places and she already found the ones that might need a good boot up the ass.

Fantastic. Oh well. She would just try and be herself. That is what she should do.

She moved to leave, but he was blocking her path again. His blue eyes had actually managed to come up off her chest. Even though she was wearing the uniform which was extremely modest.

"You're a cute little one," the boy -though admittedly more than a tad handsome- said with a roughish grin.

"Funny," she said quietly, "I can't say the same thing for you." There was a bite to her words, as well as some heat. She shifted her backpack further up and over her shoulder as she tried so skirt past the walking wall of lithe muscle.

Must have been some sort of sports player.

Why? Why did she have to be the one picked for some hodge-podge U.N. experiment to help 'promote national peace'. Were they kidding? It sounded like an _incredible_ waste of money to her. Yet, all the people hoping for some sort of feel good story had jumped all over it. Amelia had wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, she had laughed out right until tears gathered in her eyes. She had been ready to pen a short apology not rejecting the offer. However, her father wouldn't hear anything about his 'little girl' giving up a golden opportunity.

She would have to write home and tell him it was already a little more tarnished than golden.

He threw back his head and laughed, the cigarette burned between his fingers as he tapped the ashes off. "You're right," he said with a wiggle of his brows, "I'm not _little."_

Amelia stared at him as one eye twitched down and then back up.

"I think there is something in your eye." She commented, trying to be kind even if he wasn't making a great first impression.

The tall boy blinked, both eyes. There was a strange silence as his mouth parted slightly.

"No," he told her as he recovered with another large smile. "I was winking at you."

Her face scrunched up in confusion and she ignored the laughter of his nearby friends. As well as the strange words they hurled this way.

"Why?" Amelia question with complete sincerity.

The tall boy straightened, and it only added to his height. He looked as dumbfounded as she felt. What was with this guy? Was there... was there a special needs class here that no one told her about? Suddenly a wave of pity washed over her. Maybe he was one of those social unable to integrate types?

Amelia wasn't certain.

The bell rang loudly and she startled.

"Well, this was... um," she tried her best to give him a large smile but the effect fell just a little flat, "Good meeting you."

She settled for something simple as she quickly moved around him. His friends, that seemed the most likely, catcalled in several different languages as she picked up her pace to get away from them.

"Hey! American!" The boy with the cigarette called as she nearly jogged away. "What's your name?"

She simply waved, not bothering to look back or answer his question. She was already going to be late. And it was her first day, for crying out loud!

OoOoOo

He showed up in her Math class. Even later than she had been. Amelia quickly had apologized for being late, and claimed that she had been lost.

Which was... sadly, very true.

The school had too many corners! Too many floors! There were not 3 thousand students here, just... like... the number of countries. Which was, well, over 250. Yes, that sounded about right. However, each country was sponsoring some part of this, so maybe the extravagant waste of money was a common theme here?

As was the intense amount of security around the campus, but Amelia supposed that the political backlash from someone getting hurt would have been massive on a scale from 1 to 'Oh shit'. She hummed in the back of her throat as she tapped a pencil to her cheek. Her pretty blue eyes stared at the board as the third equation was written down.

She'd been given a crash course in Esperanto as had everyone else. It also was exceedingly helpful that they had taped the lecture in the native languages and given everyone headphones so they would not disturb another student.

Why hers had to sound like some strange robot-chick, Amelia had no idea. However, to her surprise, she dropped her pencil as she gave a particularly large tap to her cheek. She bit back a grumble and bent sideways to retrieve it. Her hand nearly touched someone else's as they to tried to get the pencil.

Well, wasn't that sweet of them?

Amelia smiled her thanks as the boy with wavy dark brown hair and glasses. He looked asian in origin and she was a little excited to actually meet someone who wasn't smoking directly in her face.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He tilted his head at her, and his expression was slightly confused. Right. He probably didn't understand English. What was she supposed to say then? Right. 'Thank you' was...

"_Dankon,"_ she tried again, still whispering.

Recognition lit his features and he nodded readily.

"_Vi plene rajtas," _ he whispered back, and Amelia grinned at the infection in his words.

She probably sounded funny saying Esperanto to him too. This was sort of neat, both of them wore glasses, and he seemed like an intelligent sort. Of course, that could have been the glasses.

He looked back at the front of the class as they both straightened. Amelia was reluctant to just let her first chance at a friendship go. She quickly pulled out a small translation dictionary from her backpack.

She took a few moments to find the words she was looking for, then with a sense of studiousness, she wrote it all out in Esperanto. She folded the paper and discreetly shoved it on the corner of his desk, when the instructor wasn't looking.

She'd missed the introductions by being late anyway.

'_Where are you from?'_ Seemed like an innocent enough question. The boy, her age by the look of him, glanced at the note and her in surprise, but moved the paper to his lap so he could discreetly unfold it.

He smoothed it out, and as Amelia started solving the fifth equation, he put the re-folded note on her desk. The teacher in the front hadn't noticed a thing.

Amelia feigned stretching as she reached for it and slowly opened it, trying not to make a sound.

'_Thailand. What about you?'_

_'The United States of America,'_ she jotted down quickly.

Well, this was already a little cool, meeting someone a world away right next to her. She passed the note back to him.

By the time she moved on to question nine, it was back to her.

'_It is nice to meet you.'_

_'You too,' _she wrote down as she flipped pages, '_I'm Amelia.'_

Just as she sent the note back to the boy from Thailand, something thudded against her back softly. Amelia turned her quizzical blue eyes to the crumpled ball of paper that rolled slightly behind her shoe. She glanced around and noticed the smoking boy from earlier was staring directly at her.

Did he send it?

She stole a quick look at the teacher before reaching down to grab the crumpled piece of paper. It crinkled slightly as she unfolded it. She did not fail to notice the boy from Thailand was glancing over at her curiously.

'_You never told me your name.'_ it read, in surprisingly nice handwriting. Amelia glanced back at the blond haired boy.

His eye did that weird blink thing again.

Strange.

She went back to reading the note as she shook her head.

'_You really are cute. We should date.'_

Amelia made a face at the last part. Date? Where had that come from? She didn't even know the guy. She scratched out a quick reply, expressing her denial politely. She then crumpled the paper quietly and tossed it back at him.

The teacher looked back over his shoulder, but Amelia was already back at her lesson, rewinding some of the lecture she had missed.

A hand on her desk caused her to look up, and she glanced into the concerned face of the boy from Thailand.

"_You should not... with him...,"_ he whispered slowly as he tried to pronounce the words correctly. Amelia was grateful because she was not the best at verbally translating yet. "_He... bad news. Bad... boy?"_

She blinked, understanding what he was saying though they both had a hard time using the language fluently just yet. She could tell that boy was some sort of trouble, but if other people were already warning her, she would give him a wide berth.

She nodded with a thoughtful expression, and asked her new found friend, if she could sit with him at lunch.

She did not notice the narrowed eyes of the blonde-haired boy she would later learn was from Denmark.


	3. Chapter 3

**_For reviewer JackyFrost that wanted an emotionally disturbed (anorexic) not 'Happy go lucky' America and Denmark coming to her rescue. _**

**_This Author does not lay claim to characters or ideas contained herein. This is not for profit or other material benefit. Rated M. _**

**_Some content might be disturbing to readers, please use caution and common sense. Eating disorders are serious. As are emotional problems. _**

**_OoOoOo_**

It's an empty feeling. One that gnaws with sharp teeth and a sticky tongue that works its way through your very soul. Until you are left hollow. A husk of your former self.

They call it by flashy titles. Names that have no real consequence. Polite but distant eyes watch, conveying words without depth or care. False smiles. Lies with mind, heart, and words. How foolish. Cruelty is a sin of them all, but something far worse than cruelty... is apathy.

To feel nothing.

Fuck she hated it all.

Bile rises in the back of her throat. As bitter as she feels. Loathing, at least, is a reprieve from it all. America doesn't hate the others. No. That would be pointless. She only hates herself. She wants to punish the thing that makes her hurt in her core. So she takes out the anger, aggression, pain, hate, and everything on the one she feels is responsible for it all.

Herself.

But then, she feels nothing but an aching maw in the space where happiness once dwelt until she becomes numb. Lost, so hopelessly lost to the problem, but not capable of stopping.

Down. Her thoughts and feelings trickle down, so that they can be trapped in between walls of duty and decorum.

Another day, slowed down by things like minutes and hours, creeps around her.

So she slips, into another world. A virtual one where the pain that gnaws at her insides doesn't seem to impossibly long. She won't die. She's tried that before. The world that greets her in cyberspace is vast and filled with amazing things. The good and the bad that she takes in equal measure.

The computer. The internet. Her cell phone. Anything to keep her out of realizing what is truly happening. If she allows herself to become distracted, she won't notice as much. That has to be the reason she does nothing. The parts of her that focus with intensity to just forget about real life for hours upon hours.

She make believes that she is loved and has someone to love in a fantasy world of video games. Where people are their abilities and armor sets. It is much easier this way, to deny that she needs anything. Emotionally or physically.

Much easier to pretend that some part of her doesn't wish that someone would realize what is wrong with her. Yet, that is a foolish hope.

No one cares. Neither does she.

Arms numbed from cold, even though the day is hot, move slowly. It is not so uncommon, but America gives a ghost of a smile as she allows her life to be sucked away into the computer. Spend the days and nights in fantasy. Far better than reality.

At least, that is what she tells herself.

She wears gloves, hiding the evidence of nails that have been bitten repeatedly to the quick. Bloody scabs have formed in the nights in-between worry and blame, where the shadows on the wall mock her for her failures and uselessness. She knows that things are wrong, but America cannot bring herself to shout out above the murky psychological waters that keep her bogged down. The horrible things that she thinks of herself, they start to seem true.

Have seemed true, for a while now.

America knows that she isn't crazy. That is both wonderful and terrible at the same time. Pride, it tells her not to seek anyone out. Concern etches after, wondering what would become of her people if the others knew. No one can know.

Not a soul could know that the few minutes she can pull away, she stares at her reflection, scrutinizing every inch for real and imagined flaws. So many flaws. So _imperfect._

Things that cannot be changed about her. Things she could not fix. To do so affected far more than her skin, but her people as well. Her precious... citizens that complain and curse parts about her.

She's horrible, isn't she? No one says otherwise. Soon, America no longer asks.

So she sinks lower into the recesses of a dark spiral, to which it feels as if there is not escape. Her body grows heavier with each passing day. Each false smile that stretches her lips feels like a lie of the most heinous order. Until finally, America simply... stops smiling all together.

The days and the nights revel how little she felt anymore. A place where even hunger could disrupt the veiled sadness that encroached on her every waking moment. There was no will to eat, no need. So she slowly began to let the urge slip away. The bits of food that she occasionally consumed would not have kept even a bird alive, let alone a nation.

Yet, time, like a river, kept running past her as America kept her gaze fixed on never ending cycle.

OoOoOo

The other nations, she doubts they would notice anything amiss. Doubts they would care in the slightest as long as things go on uninterrupted. Why should they? Their lives and countries have their own problems. They don't need_ America_ making it worse.

So she continues on, keeping up what appearances she could muster. It was enough for everyone. Almost. Everyone...

At first it seems so dishearteningly easy. Sayt he right thing, and tilt your head with a clueless expression. Exasperation follows. Remarks that cut like little steel life against her skin, prickled the edge of her awareness.

She's isolated. Alone. Forever touched by geography, but remarkably unwanted. Unneeded almost.

That is fine. She will manage. She always had. Everyday was just the same. It was time to play the political games and twist in the winds of change for a time.

Cold, thin, fingers wrap around a mug of black coffee, as shrunken-in blue eyes gaze at the rest of the world in mute disinterest.

America is better this way. Her pale skin, was much more paper like now. Her hair was brittle, much like the rest of her. It was as it should be. Wasn't it?

Every nation did not take an interest in America's quiet behavior, or her unwillingness to move much anymore. Things like that, they made her tired, and she did not feel like struggling against the lull of sleep for hours on end as she shuffled through articles of paperwork.

Bright eyes catch her dulled ones, with a kind smile. There is an aura about him that seems so friendly and sincere.

She sighs heavily, already knowing what he is going to do. The other nations all understand she will survive. They cannot die as humans do. Every nation leaves her to her business.

Except Denmark, happy and nearly carefree Denmark...

America gets the sneaking suspicion that there is more to his subtle invitations out to lunch than meets the eye. Or the fact that he always was trying to get her to spend some time away from the others. America did not want that. She had no urge to leave the dangerous spiral she had entered into. The fall, the spiral into nothingness. Some part of her craved it. Wanted it all.

So that it could end. Perhaps? But she did not want to stop existing, not at the core of the issue. She simply wanted... peace. So many likened death to some fabled sleep that it left the haggard nation nearly yearning for the day where she too could feel only peace.

Yet, there was the possibility that she could feel nothing at the end, that too might have been fine. It simply hurt so much. So much doubt, regret, defeat, and sorrow that it made her believe that there was nothing left to salvage of what she had once been.

OoOoOo

Denmark is... annoyingly persistent.

She finally understands Norway's lamenting about him. The bright nation has the habit of flocking to her at every available opportunity. The small talk of 'How are you?' and 'Have you been well?' start to irritate America to no end.

Because something inside her whispers that he _knows_ she isn't 'great'. Which is what she always responds. But his blue eyes, a different shade from her own, just appear indulgent when she says it. As if he won't call her out on the obvious lie.

A shadow of her former self. America knows that such a statement is true when she glances in the mirror at home. Painfully thin. There is no other way to describe her. Sections of her just look like a skeleton with skin stretched over the top. Not lithe or strong. There are not acceptable curves to her figure, just the image of someone slowly wasting away.

"America, are you alright?" He asked with such concern that it made her want to shy away and crawl into a hole.

She didn't deserve it. The care. America cringed. This time, his question was different somehow. It was searching, as if he were testing the waters. Wanting to see if she was ready for help yet.

America clenched her teeth, raising her eyes to meet his, Texas was perched proudly on her nose.

"Just fine." She replied with a caustic bite to her words.

He touched her shoulder softly, and she blinked. She missed him moving closer. Then again, these Europeans had no idea of personal space. America backed up a step, but he followed after her. This time, it appeared he would not leave well enough alone.

Anger simmered beneath her heart. What was he doing? What the _hell_ did he think he was doing?

"I don't think you are 'fine', America." He said softly, as if she were some wounded thing.

Fuck him.

"I. Am. Fine." She hissed out, feeling far more tired than she should at such a simple exchange.

Denmark did not believe her. She could tell by the worried way he furrowed his brows.

"No, you're not," he denied again.

Who did he think he was? America puffed up in ire, but on her thin frame it only came off as something worthy of pity. Wounded pride, at best.

"Leave me alone."

"I can help you," he offered.

How tempting that sweet little lie was. She gave a snarl of amusement and mocking certainty that he was just causing a spectacle. Others passed by them, not looking directly at America or Denmark.

"You can't help me," America said with a more neutral tone. As if it were simply fact.

"Yes, I can."

She shook her head at the nation that was being so foolish. Didn't he know that she was content this way? This is the way it should be. America turned away from him, ready to leave him with his delusions.

"There is nothing to help." She muttered sourly.

A hand on her shoulder caused her a vague sense of relief and discomfort.

"You don't have to do it alone."

America did not have to question what 'it' was. The clawing out of the pit of despair in which she had seated herself firmly. How dare he? How dare he come and say these _things?_

She stilled, turning to him with disbelief and rage in her face.

"I like being alone."

"No," he said with a shake of his head and an understanding smile, "you don't."

America felt riled by his accusation. She was perfectly fine without any of them. She didn't need him and he didn't need her. That was for the best. That made sense. She jerked her shoulder out from his warm hand. So warm that she felt it through her clothes.

She stared him down with a broken hearted look of anguish and anger.

What did he expect from her?

OoOoOo

His words stayed with her for weeks. They rang in her head in the evening, when the birds started to sing once more. America ran a hand through her brittle hair, noticing that it came out in clumps. Starved.

Every part of her was starved.

However , it was fine. Unavoidable. Expected even. The loneliness that had begun to seep into her thoughts poked and prodded her to seek him out. Yet, she did not want to. She repeated that thought like a mantra. She did not need anyone and they didn't need her. No one.

It was better that way.

Except nothing was going right. Even when she closed her eyes, there were nightmares of Denmark reaching out a hand to help her up from the darkness. Why couldn't he just leave her where she was? America seethed.

Yet, at the next meeting, it was she who sought him out. Ready to give him a piece of her mind, but the floodgates opened at the sight of his sunny smile.

It made her heart ache, and her thoughts muddled at the simple gesture of... happiness? What was that like again? America could no longer remember, but she wanted to. She so desperately wanted to be like him.

The words out of her mouth, were not the ones she would have chosen originally.

"Denmark?"

"America?" He responds in a nearly somber tone.

"I'm falling," she whispered brokenly, as if the revelation was much too painful to voice until now.

His arms opened and she wasted no time in shakily stepping into the embrace. Not that she had far to go.

"I know," Denmark muttered and kissed her head. Her blonde hair is mussed and it makes him want to smooth it out.

"What do I do?" America asked with wide and sad eyes. Ones so filled to the brim with pain that it hurts Denmark to see.

A world of experience and sincerity was found in his gaze as he stared at the Star-spangled nation.

"You let me catch you."

Warm tears flowed down slightly gaunt cheeks as her blue eyes stared at him as if he'd dared voice something unimaginable.

"But... But I-"

Denmark's face neared hers and he placed a single innocent kiss on her forehead. A gesture of understanding and affection.

"Don't worry," he whispered gently. "I'll catch you."

A fluttering started in her heart, nearly impossible to deny and the brush of positive emotions, they hurt. America gave a soft gasp and leaned forward...a symbolic gesture of falling. Denmark's arms were around her, strong and at the same time tender as he pulled her to him. Shushing the soft sobs that wracked her frame.

"It will be alright," he murmured into her hair, as he placed another kiss on the crown of her head. "It will be alright."

And, for once, America believed those words.

Even as other nations passed them by, not bothering to spare the pair a glance. Lost in their own worlds, and own problems. However, as much as America wanted to be upset with them. She could not be. She understood the mindset. She swallowed heavily, as she dared to glance up at Denmark.

His blue eyes were so bright, it was nearly painful, and she stared at him in near wonder. The expression he conveyed was one of affection.

Affection? For her?

It flashed across her mind that apathy, self-deprecation, and loathing were not hard emotions to bare. Hope. Frail and fragile _hope_, now that took far more strength.

Hope.

Cradled securely in Denmark's arms, she found it.


	4. Chapter 4

**_This author claims no rights to the characters borrowed for this fan fiction. Just so we are clear. Inspired by the Song 'Snowbird' by Anne Murray. Some lyrics from the song have been changed for my own purposes. _**

**_Also, inspired by the Sabine women. _**

**_WHOO! For those that do not know, 'Hie away' basically means 'get away or go away'. Literally, Hasten. _**

**_For BibbityBoo_**

_Yay, it's like my birthday everyday with all your updates! I have a teensy request, could you do an AU story set in medieval times where Denmark is a Viking and he kidnaps America? I'd write it but I am a lazy turd. Thanks!_

**_I own nothing. Rated M. This is an AU! ***NOTE THAT THIS IS AN AU*** not truly historically accurate. Before anyone gets mad at me :)_**

OoOoOo

The year was 986, and Denmark braced himself against the chilly salt air. It stung his lips, the parts that had cracked from the rough weather, but he paid no mind to it. Norge had requested him to come along a voyage to discover what it was that England had been up to. The English bastard had tried to invade his lands once or twice, seeking power.

None was found from Denmark's great displeasure. He'd chased the Englishmen homeward. Them and their preaching words from written books. His people expressed their culture and art in far longer lasting things. Iron. Statues. Metal and unrelenting brute strength.

The fierce Viking had expected monsters, or creatures of the sea for battle. However, there was nothing to be found except ice and the never ending ocean. Blue waters that seemed nearly mocking in their consistency.

What he had not expected, was to ever reach land. Though after months on the seas, they found it. He was ready to depart upon to the dry bit of earth. It looked nearly as unending at the sea. With trees not familiar to him. Plants that bloomed in different color, and shapes than his native species.

The sounds of unknown animals echoed in the distance as strange birds flew overhead.

He spat upon the ground. His challenge for any creature that might seek to do battle with him and his men. Or Norge's. Orders were snapped out to those that descended. Norge gave his to those that would continue to watch over the ship.

They had set out to explore the land. The men were well trained, and had survived much harsher conditions than the nearly mild weather they found upon these pristine shores. Denmark separated from the rest, lured by the rustle of leaves somewhere in a dense thicket. He paused, as the birds ceased their calls above him.

Was there a predator or a beast in the woods? Something that swayed the animals into deathly quiet?

It was the silence that permitted him to hear her. And, their fates would be forever intertwined because of it. A chance meeting. A happenstance. Nothing more. Or it was the Gods' will for Denmark to find her.

"_For the thing I wish for most, it what I cannot possess."_

The familiar language floated in his ears, and Denmark looked up sharply. English. Decidedly English. Someone was singing in the dense forest. The strange and unfamiliar trees grabbed at his furs, as if attempting to stop him from gaining a closer look.

His feet moved carefully, slowly stalking through the underbrush, and avoiding the branches. Until he came to a stop in a small gully.

_"The breeze along the rivers, beckon me not to stay. Lest he break my fragile heart another morrow." _

He found the source easily, for she was far from quiet.

Something sputtered in his chest, as he held a breath. Who was she?

There was a woman, upon the hill above him. The sound of her voice called to him, like the myths of creatures of old. Their enchanting tunes had lead men to their deaths. Denmark wisely chose to unsheathe his axe. He had seen creatures far worse, in the souls of men, but it was not above a seasoned warrior to be cautious.

The maiden did not appear to see him. It was as if she were not truly looking anywhere. Lost in thought?

The Viking observed her silently.

"_The one that binds me is untrue_," She crooned softly in a voice that spoke of innocence and untouched purity.

Denmark's dark blue gaze wandered over her clothing. Modest, and suitable. She seemed as a practical female. That was a good quality for a woman to possess.

He would have turned back, perhaps, but he stilled as he noticed that whoever this maiden was... she called to him. She was as he was. Not human. Nor spirit. Nor monster. Nay. She was a colony.

An _English_ colony.

Which meant that she belonged to the bastard himself. That annoying pestilence that called himself England.

Denmark could feel the presence of the bastard pulsating under the maiden's skin. And, her speech was another large indicator. England was the one that bound her.

He swallowed heavily, enchanted by her lovely face and his thoughts swelled with a fierce desire to own her for himself.

The haunting melody of her sweet voice floated in his ears. His dark blue gaze watched at the breeze caught her golden hair and played with it gently.

_"And if I could, you know that I would hie away with you."_

There was a pleading in her gaze. One that was filled with stark vulnerability, and it caused Denmark's heart to clench painfully. Even though the maiden was not gazing upon him. He could see the look in her eyes. The one pleading for freedom. For care.

Females were... gentler and in need of protection.

England was obviously unfit for such a task, for he had left the maiden vulnerable. A treasure far too tempting to resist. With lust in his gaze and his heart, Denmark began to close the distance between them, silently. He slowly crept up the hillside that separated them.

"_Snowbird, I bid thee take me with you when you go."_ She sang with a fluttering in her words. Her blue eyes were firmly fixed on something in the tree line.

Fortunate.

The Viking nation had reached the top of the hill, and he took a moment to admire her beauty up closer. She was breathtaking. He had to have her. It was decided.

A twig snapped under his boot, a foolish move for he had been distracted by his want. HIs skin itched to touch her. To mould her supple body against his own and claim what had been so foolishly left unguarded. In the back of his thoughts, he wondered still who she was, but it mattered not. She was his.

He would not allow someone else to have her.

The golden-haired woman turned toward him, with the last note of her song dying in her throat. Her blue eyes, lighter than his own and infinitely kinder, widened at him. A scream bubbled forth to replace the sweet melody had previously voiced.

She stumbled back as he reached for her with strong and rough hands.

"_No!"_ The maiden denied, and he took a moment to breathe in the scent of her.

She bore the scent of sweet, yet foreign blossoms, and a sweetness lingered on her skin. It was almost as if she were the embodiment of milk and honey, with hints of rolling meadows.

Desire flared anew in his loins as his hands closed upon her fragile form. His calloused hands could only barely feel how soft she was. His large and muscled frame towered over the golden beauty that continued to scream for help.

No one would come. Or if they did, they would be Danish men. There was the possibility of Norse men. Either way, she would not escape him.

"_Cease! Release me!"_ She wailed with her lips spouting English words.

Therefore, Denmark had to silence her. His lips descended upon hers with a savage need to possess. To quiet her screams and turn them to moans of pleasure. However, the maiden resisted, attempting to fight him off. She bit his tongue as he sought to plunder her mouth.

The Viking drew back with a hiss of anger, yet as he looked into her defiant and glittering blue eyes, he only felt his lust return anew. The pain was nothing, he turned his head and spat out the blood that she caused to pool in his mouth.

He grinned at her then, his teeth stained by the life sustaining fluid. She thrashed, attempting to get out of his hold, yet his grip was stronger than iron and the maiden could not pry herself away. Her struggles amused him to no end. There was fire in her lovely eyes that only made her more appealing.

Denmark was not a hospitable place to the weak. This maiden was certainly not weak. He gave her an appraising look before he threw her over his shoulder. The golden-haired woman screamed wildly, like a stuck pig, or the spirits of the damned.

His men came crashing through the dense underbrush and branches snapped from their bodies barreling through the forest. They had heard the screams. Who could not? The woman was loud enough to wake the dead. Denmark nodded to them. The men did not question, they moved to help him with his burden.

"Take her," he commanded with a voice roughened by his excitement. "No one is to touch her."

His second in command nodded, without saying a word.

"_Release me! You cannot do this!" _She snarled angrily, "_England will slay thee!"_

Ah England. That part he did understand. Denmark drew closer to her, fury and jealousy was written on every line of his face.

"England? I will hear no more of _England._" He replied as he spat upon the ground once more in blatant distaste for her threat. The maiden glared at him, but a shimmer of concern had worked into her blue orbs.

"You belong to Denmark now." The Viking nation growled with a low rumble.

Her sweet lips parted in disbelief and he could see the confusion in her features. It did not matter if she understood or not. She belonged to him now. And the temptation she presented to his heated flesh was unpredictable. Not that he was trying to resist the curves that her clothing concealed from his hungry eyes.

He threw back his head and released a mighty shout of victory and celebration. His men mimicked the near-war-cry and the maiden flinched back. Denmark's dark blue gaze locked with her gentler blue.

"By what name, are you called?" He asked, when the ruckus had died down.

The maiden glanced away, and back at him with a glare. She did not seem to register the question. He asked it again. His lips narrowed into a thin like of annoyance. He needed to know his bride's name. Lest he be forced to give her one.

The Viking nation slapped his chest with a closed fist.

"Denmark." He repeated with his accent stronger as the maiden looked at him distrustfully.

He pointed a calloused finger at her, allowing his expression to soften minutely.

She swallowed, her pale throat caught his attention and he wanted nothing more than to nip his teeth along the sensitive skin as he brought her to the plateau of pleasure. The sort of pleasure that only he could give her. The burning and un-slaking desire he would create within her core as it sheathed him-

He shuddered and barely repressed a moan at the thought of taking her to their wedded bed.

Her blonde head dipped for a moment, before she clenched her jaw tightly. Denmark waited, watching her like a wolf that had discovered an unattended lamb.

She seemed to sense that he expected an answer. Her blue gaze looked down.

"_America."_

An... unusal name, for certain. Denmark raised a brow, as Norway came decending fromt he opposite direction. They hailed each other, and the dull-eyed blonde took in the sight of the woman as he drew nearer.

Norge glanced at her, his dull eyes sparked with interest. Denmark felt the jealousy roar to life in his veins as he slammed his axe down in front of her. The female colony jumped, having been startled. The men backed up a step, and Norge merely stared at him.

It was a an obvious warning. The other nation snorted dismissively. He understood the situation perfectly. Dull eyes clashed with dark blue. His face was a stoic mask.

"What is she called?"

"America?"

"_Omme-rike?"_ Norway repeated in a questioning tone. "England has called her 'Furthest out land'?"

Denmark shrugged. Norway's pronunciation did sound nearly identical to the way the maiden called herself.

"So it seems." He answered in a non-committal manner as he fisted a hand in her hair. The maiden shouted in anger and a twinge of pain. Denmark did not hurt her, he was certain to be careful with her.

"What will you do with her?" Norway asked, nearly bored as his dull eyes wandered over the maiden once more. Her blue eyes glared at him defiantly.

Denmark smiled broadly at the question.

"Keep her, of course."

"Of course," Norway muttered as he shook his head.

America had become a Viking bride, Denmark knew he had bestowed a great honor upon her. He would relay that fact to her, after he got her on board the ship.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. _**

**_I own nothing. 'Tis a Drabble. Thank you for reviewing. _**

**_Is in line with the 'Baby bug' series. Randers is the 6th largest city in Denmark, according to Google. _**

OoOoOo

It had to be the ugliest necklace anyone had ever seen.

America seemed oblivious to it as she hummed quietly, shuffling her meeting notes. The other nations, however, snickered behind their hands at it. The stones of all shapes and sizes. In alternating blues, greens, and a stray green or purple here or there. Some stuck out at odd angles. It was tied up by what looked to be cheap plastic, rubber, or wire? A sort of string maybe?

The nations poked fun at it, whispering unkindly behind their hands at America's 'unconventional' jewelry. It had glass beads, stones, and small silver and gold spacers. Canada and England couldn't help but notice how she wore it with pride. America was nearly beaming as she stood to give her speech on the upcoming elections in her country.

It was the same speech every four years. Things may change, unions would be re-evaluated, and she would get back to them all by one week after her new President was in office. That created a brand new series of heckling from the other nations.

Ones that had very loud, long, and detailed opinions about all of her candidates, current leadership, and policies.

America ignored them all, smiling brightly. She nearly sashayed to her seat, allowing the light to catch her hideous necklace and nearly blinded Estonia accidentally.

Others presented their speeches, and some made note about upcoming events that certain countries had to participate in. Yet, through it all, Denmark could not stop staring at the latest 'designer' fashion that America was wearing.

It must have been designer, because America was obsessed with her brand recognition and labels. They were on excellent terms, the Star-Spangled nation and himself. So, he had no trouble telling her, after the meeting, just how awful the thing looked.

He didn't even wait three seconds before striding over, already caught in a fit of mirth at how _silly_ she looked. He adored his little 'Pistol' of an ally, but even this seemed a bit extreme. His blue eyes twinkled as he leaned over her side of the table.

"America," Denmark said with a wide grin. "What on earth are you wearing, little one?"

He laughed, pointing at the necklace that hung in proud and prominent display around her neck. America tilted her head, and it was the first time that Denmark noticed the matching earrings. They appeared from behind her hair, which had been obscuring them.

Americans had a horrendous taste in fashion! France and Italy were right. He'd had his doubts in the past, but this... oh this... was just priceless. How could she like that thing? He nearly doubled over laughing.

She arched a brow at him carefully, as Texas took on a nearly dangerous glint.

"Do you like it?" Her words were misleadingly calm and cheerful.

Denmark shook his head to the negative. Nearly in tears by how ridiculous she appeared, it was made only the more horrible by the elegant way she was dressed.

"It is hor-" He started, gasping in-between his chuckles.

"-Because our son made it." America finished on a near purr. Her hand reached out and yanked his tie, causing him to land on his elbows, braced by the table. Blue clashed with lighter blue, and he could see the spark of her 'Wild West' days there in her eyes.

Denmark's mouth 'clacked' closed so quickly that even he was surprised he didn't break his teeth. Still, it was her words that gave him pause. He blinked.

"_Randers_ made that?" He asked, looking at the necklace again.

"Yes," America said, using her free hand to touch one of the blue stones. "He did. All by himself. It was his gift to me, for Christmas."

The male nation froze. Staring at the necklace, that actually didn't look so bad. A look of adoration entered his eyes, and his voice lowered to a near whisper.

"All by himself?"

America released him, smiling impishly.

"Yes he did, the clever boy. Though, I should've have known he was going to be bright, look at his Father." She complemented, grinning at him again.

Randers, was the Son he'd sired with America. Who was only about the physical age of five now.

"Let me see," Denmark demanded, holding out his hand.

She slipped the necklace off carefully. As Denmark's blue eyes darted over the stones, beads, and baubles that were strung together. They were tied off in a sloppy knot, but it was tied properly. Denmark beamed at America.

"He remembered the knot I showed him."

America blushed with pleasure then. She nodded happily.

"Of course he did."

Denmark was a proud nation, but not too proud to admit when he was wrong. He gazed at America directly, and placed the necklace back in its rightful place around her neck.

"I take it back, this is the most amazing piece of jewelry I have ever seen." He declared loudly.

America laughed at that, moving for her briefcase, as she winked at him.

"I am so glad you think that," the female nation commented, "because he made a present for you too."

Denmark's face was like a child about to receive a sweet treat. Full of anticipation and eagerness.

"Oh, give it here little one, give it here."

A small package was quickly passed into his hands, and Denmark tore into it as if it was the only way to save the planet. Soon, the paper had fallen away, and he had a plain white box to open. He grinned as he removed the lid, his blue eyes eagerly gazed inside.

It had to be the ugliest tie-clip in existence. With clashing colors of beads and stones glued on in different places. Some of which did not make sense. Attached was a piece of white paper, and in large, improperly spelled, and sloppy writing; read _Too Fader. _

Denmark, loved it instantly.

He hastily removed it from the package and clipped it on to his tie.

"It's wonderful," he said honestly. "I love it."

America smiled knowingly.

"I am glad you do."

"And, look, we match!" Denmark proclaimed as other nations paused to stare at the pair as if they were utterly insane.

It hardly mattered. America pulled out her phone, and they took a picture together, so that Randers could see that his father had loved the gift.

Denmark slung an arm around America, smiling widely.

"Now, how about a kiss?" He questioned, as he waggled his brows.

America chuckled in fondness as she pressed her lips against his.


End file.
